


Smallwood-Holmes

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Benefit scrounger AU, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Smallcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Mycroft and Elizabeth Smallwood are friends with benefits. Literally. Benefit scrounger AU.





	Smallwood-Holmes

Seargent Sherlock Holmes quietly got into the car, minding not to spill his tea. Deep breaths and lemon balm tea were his only defence against the three main sources of stress in his life. First was DI Lestrade, the rudest, the least considerate arsehole who never gave up an opportunity to offend Sherlock. The second and third were Mycroft, his big brother. Very big. Morbidly obese fast-food addict and a benefit scrounger. Just thinking about it all made Sherlock's blood pressure rise. If only he weren't so law-abiding and indulged in an occasional, calming drug use. But he had always been against drugs and his only weakness was coffee, with milk, without sugar.

He was smart enough to realise his life choices were influenced by his strong desire to be the exact opposite of his brother. The only good thing Mycroft had ever done as a brother was being an anti-role model. Sherlock watched him as a toddler and even then knew he didn't want to follow in his footsteps. Mycroft, the first child of their parents, was lazy and had a sweet tooth. That combination was a disaster waiting to happen. Mycroft piled on pounds, unapologetic about his addictions and determined to avoid physical activity whenever possible. He wasted his intellect on analysing chips. According to his extensive research, there were 243 types of chips. Sherlock shuddered at the memory of witnessing Mycroft's experiments. Greasy stains, cooking oil, potatoes... 

Having miraculously taken his GCSE, Mycroft decided that was enough education for him and devoted his time to fattening foods, unambitious entertainment and not much else. Too fat to work, Mycroft made another choice: becoming a benefit scrounger. Anyone who met him was stunned to find out that his younger brother was fit, ate regular, healthy meals and had a real, exhausting job.

Visiting his 43-stone brother in his filthy council house ruined Sherlock's every Friday. Sometimes he wanted to pretend he was too busy, but his anti-social brother needed him, even if he masked it with endless arguments and teasing Sherlock about his healthy lifestyle.

To get to Mycroft's bedroom, one had to cross the sea of empty takeaway boxes and cheap beer cans. Sherlock knocked on the door, remembering how neat the house was on Mycroft's first day.

'It's me!' He announced loudly, for a second scared that Mycroft's self-destructive tendencies finally cost him his life.

'What? How did you get in?' Mycroft's voice was tinged with panic. 'Oh! That slut!'

'What?' Sherlock opened the door, shocked by the suggestion that there was a slutty and forgetful woman who didn't mind Mycroft's egoism. And then it hit him: it was Liz Smallwood, his friend, also a benefit enthusiast. Sherlock thought they were just two vile people who enjoyed each other's company, but now he began to suspect they were friends with benefits... Both literally and figuratively.

Mycroft was alone, sprawled on his massive bed, nude, folds of skin covered his private bits. Shiny wrappers scattered all around him, greasy paper trays and plastic cutlery between his wide-spread legs. The sad remains of chips with curry sauce all over the wide expanse of Mycroft's chest and dozens of packets of prawn cocktail crisps within his reach. For a moment, words failed Sherlock, as always when he faced the horror of his brother's toxic dump, but he had to know what was going on with Liz Smallwood.

She lived nearby with her large family. A mother-of-sixteen, she never hid the fact that she treated children as a meal ticket and got pregnant whenever she could just to steal more money from hardworking people. Her brood of spoilt, entitled brats learnt from the start that a decent job was for some half-wits and sure enough, none of her children made the effort to break the cycle. A handful of them was still living with her. On occasion, Sherlock would see her with her assorted grandchildren. The feral children were delighted to hear he was a copper and shouted at him tirelessly. From what Sherlock knew, there was no Mr Smallwood. Perhaps now, when most of her grandchildren were big enough to wander around unsupervised, she decided to take advantage of Mycroft. The only good thing about it was that she was around sixty and surely couldn't get pregnant again.

'Did you mean Liz Smallwood? Was she here? What were you doing?'

'Sherly, this is not an interrogation,' Mycroft snapped, irritated. 'She left the door open, I knew it.'

'Hmm. Are you two involved... romantically?'

Mycroft gave him a condescending look. 'You are such an innocent, stupid little boy. What have you brought this time? Something tasty, I hope.'

Sherlock prepared himself for a flaming row and soggy chips being thrown at him. 'Nothing. I've decided: I will stop being your enabler. You have to start-'

'Hiya!' A female voice interrupted his rehearsed speech. Liz Smallwood oddly gracefully moved through the piles of rubbish, carrying three pizza boxes. 'Out of my way, little Holmes.'

Sherlock wanted to stop her, throw away the junk food and continue his conversation with Mycroft, but he couldn't. Liz got bigger. She put on quite a lot of weight, mostly around her middle, but her face seemed rounder as well. And her hands... and feet. Her relationship with Mycroft had to be more serious than he thought. They had sex and ate pizza, probably at the same time.

Liz simply shoved him away with the boxes and walked into the bedroom. Mycroft forgot he was angry with her as soon as he noticed the pizzas.

'Hello, love,' he whispered to a slice that looked tiny in his hand. 'Do you love Daddy? Want Daddy to eat you?'

Liz cackled, ridiculously amused. Sherlock felt sick. He was about to leave, but Mycroft stopped him.

'Before you leave, I have something to tell you. Well, _we_ ,' Mycroft grabbed Liz's hand and squeezed, leaving it greasy and sticky. Liz looked at him almost affectionately. It was so bizarre.

'I don't think I want to know.'

'Remember when Liz went on holidays?'

'Yes. Eastern Europe, wasn't it? Ukraine?'

Liz nodded. She grinned, satisfied. Mycroft smiled broadly. Sherlock's heart sank. Weight gain. Unexpected closeness with a person too selfish to form a healthy relationship. A visit to one of the countries where there was no such thing as the age limit for IVF treatment.

'No. Oh, my God,' he groaned. It was amazing that Mycroft was still able of letting him down. 'Are you pregnant?'

'Yes. Baby number seventeen. I love even numbers, don't you, Mikey?'

'Yes. Twenty is my lucky number,' he chuckled and devoured another slice of pizza. 'Oh, cheer up, Sherly. It's only painful because you expect me to be like you: boring. We're not doing anything wrong. We're in love and want one to three children together,' Mycroft said mockingly. 'She's a baby machine, what did you expect?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock wept.

'I think we should call it Child-Benefit.'

'No, Mycroft, too obvious. Maybe Benefit-System.'

Sherlock knew that his plan to force Mycroft to take responsibility for his life had to wait. He couldn't abandon him now. Baby Smallwood-Holmes needed at least one reasonable guardian and clearly, the only candidate was Sherlock.

'You'll be expected to babysit the child, like a proper little brother,' Mycroft laughed and glanced at Liz. 'When we'll be working on the second one.'

Defeated and helpless, Sherlock gave a nod. What choice did he have? Everything for his big brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Wait, this isn't funny. Inspired by you-know-who.


End file.
